


Albus Getting Married

by violetclarity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, M/M, Minor James Sirius Potter/OFC, Minor Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter, Wedding Planning, non-graphic mentions of pregnancy, not mpreg, older harry and draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 02:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13965825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetclarity/pseuds/violetclarity
Summary: Albus and Scorpius are getting married, and they’ve put Harry and Draco in charge of the reception. Which is fine with Harry. Really, it is. He’s not holding on to childhood grudges anymore...but he can’t stop thinking about that one kiss. And dating your son’s fiancé’s father is really, really not on.





	Albus Getting Married

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the lovely fic "As The Sea Meets The Shore," in which Albus and Scorpius's feelings for each other are complicated by the fact that Harry and Draco are already married. I read it, I loved it, I immediately thought "but what if...the opposite?" - and in a matter of days I'd banged out this fic. So here, have older drarry with established relationship scorbus and a side of wedding planning :) Enjoy!
> 
> Huge thanks to starlillie for beta-reading!

_Mr. Harry Potter, Ms. Ginny Weasley, and Mr. Draco Malfoy_

 

Scorpius offered to help with the dishes and promptly cornered Harry in the kitchen, staring him down as Harry stood there with soapy hands and asking if he was _really_ alright working with Draco on the preparations for Albus and Scorpius’s wedding. Harry wasn’t surprised by his future son-in-law’s question, but thought he should get slightly more credit for having gotten along with Draco over the past decade.

Ever since Scorpius had transferred to Hogwarts at thirteen and Albus had been asked to help show him the ropes, it had been obvious to everyone around them that they would end up here. Instantly attached at the hip, their friendship had been so close and caring from the start that Harry still didn’t believe they’d only started dating in their seventh year. He was used to watching interactions between his kids and their cousins, constantly barreling over each other and interrupting, equally ready to fight against each other as for each other. The first time Albus had brought Scorpius home for a break, he’d grabbed Scorpius’s hand to show him up to his room, and Harry and Ginny had placed bets that night on how long it would be until they admitted they were dating.

Harry had been worried that Scorpius – an only child raised in France until his mother’s death – would be eaten alive by the extended Potter/Weasley clan, but he had held his own admirably over the years, especially since his official induction into the family as Albus’s boyfriend.

“I’ll be fine, Scorpius,” Harry said. “Your dad and I got over our grudges a long time ago.”

Scorpius looked skeptical but didn’t call Harry on it. “I know he can be a lot to deal with sometimes,” he said diplomatically, head tilted to the side in a gesture that had been so thoroughly adopted by Al that Harry wasn’t sure which of them did it first.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at Scorpius’s understatement. “Yes, but we both care about you and Albus, and we want your wedding to go well. We’ll be able to work together,” he promised.

“Alright.” Scorpius turned back to the counter, waving his wand to send a drying charm over the clean plates Harry had stacked there. “If he’s being…himself, though, let me know and I can talk to him.” He shot Harry a grin, and Harry laughed again.

“I will. And I can finish these, Scorpius Why don’t you bring the coffee out to the table and I’ll be there in a minute?”

“Alright, Harry,” Scorpius said – and thank goodness he had stopped calling him Mr. Potter when he graduated – and levitated the coffee pot ahead of him as he grabbed several mugs and headed back into the living room.

The problem wasn’t strictly that Harry didn’t get along with Draco anymore. He still found him infuriating at times, of course, but he hadn’t been lying when he told Scorpius that he and Draco had buried the hatchet years ago – around the time it became clear that Albus and Scorpius would be in each other’s lives for a very long time. They had even come to a tentative friendship by the time the boys had moved in together.

And then – tasked with setting up the Muggle internet connection in their sons’ new apartment while Scorpius and Al borrowed Harry’s car to go pick up their new couch – Draco had pressed a dry, minty kiss to Harry’s mouth, and Harry had kissed him back. In the few moments that they touched, it had struck Harry that Draco was funny, wickedly intelligent, and even more handsome at almost fifty than he’d been at 18; that Draco was single, and out, and so was Harry, and according to Hermione he needed to “get back out there”; and at the same time, that he could never, ever ask Draco out.

Harry had pulled back with an apologetic “we can’t”, and Draco hadn’t even let him finish his sentence - _“even though I really, really want to”_ \- before he was agreeing and apologizing. Nothing more had been said, because Albus and Scorpius’s new next door neighbor knocked on the door with a plate of cookies, and by the time Harry had thanked her and promised he would send the boys over to say hi later, Draco had managed to crack the casing of one of the electrical sockets. He’d left to buy a replacement, and by the time that had been fixed, the boys were back and needed help carrying in their Ikea purchases. Al had gone to pick up dinner from the chippy down the street, the Malfoys had disappeared into the bedroom to begin assembling furniture, and Harry had stood in the kitchen, halfheartedly unpacking a box of dishes as he wracked his brain for any justification to ask Draco on a date.

There wasn’t one. Harry could only imagine how embarrassed and uncomfortable their sons would be if their fathers started dating, and it wouldn’t be fair to spring that on them after so many years. The boys had a future – Harry thought about the ring that Al had asked him to hold so Scorpius wouldn’t find it while they packed – and Harry didn’t want to compromise future holidays and family gatherings if (when) he and Draco (inevitably) combusted. So he had watched Draco lick vinegar off his fingertips, and left after dinner when the boys started to get giggly and affectionate, and avoided being alone with Draco for the past year and a half.

Not that he would be able to avoid it much longer, he reflected as he put the clean plates into the cabinet and joined his family in the living room. Lily and Maria were sat at the piano, the bench pushed back to accommodate Maria’s growing belly, each playing one hand of a song Harry recognized from the radio. James and Albus were embroiled in a game of Gobstones, Scorpius resting his feet in Al’s lap as he leafed through a book.

Harry smiled at his family. All his children and their partners, healthy and happy and still wanting to spend time with him – it was all he had ever wanted. And if Draco Malfoy looked criminally good in the Muggle clothes he’d begun favoring since his retirement, and Harry had to work with him to plan their sons’ wedding reception, well. That was just something he was going to have to get through.

 

_cordially invite you to celebrate the union of their sons,_

 

Harry had put a lot of thought into what time he would arrive at the bakery. Not too early, because Draco might also be early and then he would be alone with him, but he couldn’t be late or Albus would be angry. In the end, he stood in his living room until it was seven minutes before ten, then Apparated to a nearby alley and walked down the street. He entered the shop with three minutes to spare to find Draco Malfoy seated alone at a two person corner table. As Harry watched, Draco raised an espresso cup to his lips and took a sip. The miniature drinkware made Draco’s hands look even bigger by comparison, and Harry’s stomach swooped with pleasure.

He made his way over to the table, feeling clumsy as he pulled out the low chair and sat down. Draco smiled at him in greeting, setting down the cup and spinning it around in it’s saucer once. “Hello, Harry.”

“Draco,” Harry said, rubbing his suddenly sweaty hands against the legs of his trousers. Why weren’t Albus and Scorpius here yet? “Where are the boys?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought maybe they were coming with you.”

Harry had just pulled out his mobile to text Albus when a short dark-haired woman emerged from the back and approached their table.

“Misters Malfoy and Potter?”

Draco stood to shake her hand, and Harry did the same, before she dragged a third chair over to their table and dropped an overstuffed green ringbinder onto the table with a loud _thwack_.

“We’re so pleased you’ve chosen Tina’s for your wedding cake, gentleman. Now, we’re preparing some tasting samples for you, but we wanted to go over some of the decoration options first--”

“Our wedding?” Thank Merlin Draco said something, as Harry’s brain was still struggling to catch up with the baker’s words. “There must be some mistake. This isn’t for our wedding.”

The baker - Tina, Harry supposed - flipped back to the beginning of the ringbinder and took out an order form. “You are here about the Malfoy-Potter wedding, yes? And you are Mr. Malfoy -” her eyes traveled from Draco to Harry “- and Mr. Potter?”

“Our sons,” Harry said. “Our sons are getting married. They were supposed to be here, but they’re running late.”

“Well,” Tina said, eyes flicking between them again, “perhaps you should call them? We do have another appointment at half past.”

“Of course.” Harry pushed back the chair noisily and excused himself to the opposite corner of the shop, already dialing his son’s number. His son, who he loved dearly and was very happy for, but also kind of wanted to strangle at the moment as he found himself alone in a Muggle bake shop with Draco Malfoy.

It was a nice compromise, he thought as the phone rang, to have a Wizarding ceremony and a Muggle reception - Scorpius and Al had many Muggle friends they’d wanted to include, and it was commonly enough done to keep the ceremony small that none of the reception-only invitees would suspect a thing. But it did mean that none of the vendors could be Wizarding, and Muggle technology had advanced so far since Harry used it regularly that the prospect of months of Muggle wedding preparations made him nervous. And that wasn’t even taking into consideration Draco Malfoy’s presence.

The ringing finally stopped. “Hello?”

“Al, where are you?”

“Um, Scorpius and I are having brunch with James and Maria. Why do you ask?”

Harry rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Because I’m currently at a bakery with Draco, waiting for you two to show up so we can start tasting wedding cakes?”

“Merlin’s pants, Dad, I completely forgot!” Scorpius must have asked a question, because Harry faintly heard him say “The meeting at the bakery - he’s there with your dad right now.” A muffled response, and then Al’s voice, more clear. “Can you guys get started without us? We’re at this new place on Vertic and they _just_ brought out our food.”

Harry looked at his watch. “They have another appointment in...twenty-three minutes now. How soon can you guys get here?”

It sounded like Albus was chewing, which was not promising. “Not that soon, sorry Dad. Can you and Draco just do the meeting for us? You know what the colors are and everything, and we don’t want anything fancy. We’ll schedule another meeting with them and go over whatever you guys have narrowed down.”

Knowing his son couldn’t see his expression, Harry indulged in an eyeroll. “Does Scorpius also not mind having the two of us pick your wedding cake?”

A few muffled words, and then his future son-in-law’s crisp voice on the phone. “We trust you two! And we’re so sorry, Harry, we just completely forgot about the meeting. We’ll make it up to you! Thanks!”

A few seconds of clanking silverware and the line went dead.

Harry turned off the screen and pocketed his phone, and spent the next twenty minutes watching Draco Malfoy sample a dozen different types of cake, complete with pleased noises and licking frosting off his fork and the tilt of his neck as he cleansed his palate with water between each plate.

This was only the first of his and Draco’s wedding-related tasks, and Harry was already completely screwed.

At least they wouldn’t be alone for the rest of them.

 

_Albus Severus Potter and Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy,_

 

They were alone for most of them.

Harry was beginning to wonder if Albus and Scorpius were trying to distract their parents from a secret plan to elope, with how little they seemed to care about the preparations for the most important day of their lives. At the furniture rental center, only Scorpius had shown, and he had promptly gotten distracted by the electric chandeliers that were housed in another room of the warehouse. He’d spent forty-five minutes asking questions about their different designs and uses - Harry knew for a fact he knew _nothing_ about Muggle electricity - while Harry and Draco were shown so many white chairs that Harry began to think the salesperson was rotating through the same ten or so designs, just to mess with them. Albus made it to the florist but left fifteen minutes later when Maria called him with a pregnancy-related cravings emergency.

“Why can’t James do it?” Harry asked, pointedly not looking at Draco surrounded by flowers while Albus shoved his arms into his coat sleeves. “You know, as her husband? Or Scorpius? Or Lily?”

“Because,” Albus said, as though Harry were very, very stupid, “James is at work, and I need to be the favorite uncle.”

“The baby won’t know who’s buying Maria cockroach cluster ice cream!” Harry said. “It’s not even born yet!”

“And who do you think is going to tell the baby who their favorite uncle should be, hmm?” Albus said. “I’m really sorry, but Draco knows more about flowers than I do anyways. Just pick something nice and not too smelly, okay?”

Which was how Harry ended up trailing Draco through the florist as he discussed flower meanings with the shopkeeper, ignoring the way his stomach clenched whenever the florist put a hand on Draco’s shoulder and complimented his knowledge.

Scorpius and Albus both managed to make it to the first potential venue, but disappeared halfway through the tour and returned twenty minutes later looking distinctly ruffled and announcing that this location wouldn’t do. Albus showed up to the caterer looking positively green, and they sent him home over vehement protests - “But we keep missing meetings, and you’ve been doing so much - I don’t want to leave you alone again.” “Al, you look like you’re about to keel over. Please just go home and lie down.” - which left Harry sitting alone with Draco at a candlelit table as they were served delicate hors d'oeuvres and miniature portions of delicious entrees.

The boys had warned them it was a nice restaurant, so Harry had put on trousers instead of jeans, but Draco had worn a grey suit the same shade as his eyes and left his shirt collar unbuttoned. After the first glass of wine, which drowned out the _too much like a date_ bells that were ringing in Harry’s head, they settled into a conversation which reminded Harry why it was so hard _not_ to date Draco in the first place. Because not only was he gorgeous, but he was witty, and intelligent, and the last time Harry’d had this much fun with just one other person was probably...well, the last time he and Draco had gone to the pub together, before the kiss that changed everything.

Scorpius actually arrived before them to the photography studio - “Is that actually my son, or have I gotten my hopes up too high,” Draco whispered to Harry - _and_ stayed the whole time. But after flipping through the sample book and asking a few questions about rates, he declared that he wanted to see “how you _really_ work” and asked the photographer to get out his camera and shoot some sample photos of Harry and Draco. Because the universe hated him, this involved the photographer positioning Harry in Draco’s arms and crouching in front of them as he snapped away. Scorpius kept up a running commentary, but Harry didn’t hear any of it, too distracted by the heat of Draco’s skin radiating through the thin button-down he was wearing.

He lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, and listed everything he had to be thankful for. His career, and his current part-time job, both of which he loved. Friends - including his ex-wife - who’d known him for decades, and supported him through everything. The loving family he never thought he’d have. Three wonderful kids, five if you included their partners. His first grandchild on the way.

This house, where his children had grown up. A big house - too big for one person - that he’d kept in anticipation of birthday parties and holidays as his own children started families. 

He stretched his limbs out in the bed, sliding bare arms and feet across cool sheets. Even his bed was too big for one person. It had been an impulsive bachelor purchase, but over the years the novelty of being able to roll over completely and still not fall off had waned, and he simply wished he had someone to share it with. The ‘who’ of that someone had been nebulous for a long time. Harry went on occasional dates and returned home alone, but in his mind now it was Draco, just Draco - what might he look like, pale hair against Harry’s blue sheets, the covers skimming over his body, softened with age but still so beautiful. Behind closed eyes, Harry could see it so clearly: the way Draco would watch him in the dim light, the soft kiss he might bestow before settling down to sleep. But when he opened his eyes, of course he was alone.

 

_to take place on the 14th of April, 2030,_

 

Harry was looking forward to his robe fitting - a sentence he never expected to think - because it was the first wedding-related activity he would get to do alone. No Albus or Scorpius wired up from nerves, but more importantly, no Draco being handsome and funny and very off limits. Harry liked to keep himself busy - weekly meals with all of his children and various friends, consulting for the Ministry three days a week, and volunteering as a Quidditch referee every other Saturday - but for the past few months, it seemed his life had been a blur of wedding planning - venues and tiny storefronts and folders carried by intimidating experts - and throughout it all, Draco. Draco in sharp Muggle clothing, Draco as he laughed and ate, Draco and his research and opinions and the heated argument they’d gotten into at the Muggle stationary store. It was half everything he wanted and half complete torture and Harry was deeply relieved to be ending his day in a quiet robe shop with only the familiar elderly tailor for company.

He treated himself to a coffee on his way from the Ministry to the shop and almost dropped the drink when he opened the door to see Draco standing on a stool, arms calmly outstretched as a measuring tape whipped around his bare torso, a quill hovering in midair and recording the measurements.

“Mr. Potter!” Peter called from the back wall, where he was sorting through bolts of fabric as tall as he was. “Lovely to see you. Shirt off and on the other stool, if you please.”

Draco’s back had stiffened when he heard Harry’s name - it was easy to tell, with no clothes covering Harry’s view of muscles under skin - but he didn’t turn or look. Feeling suddenly shaky, Harry Banished his forgotten coffee and took off his own coat and shirt, folding them to buy himself time before he stepped onto his own stool.

The measuring tape tickled as it danced around his torso. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Draco was now standing with his arms folded, staring studiously forward. He seemed startled, even, when Peter came to stand in front of him, pressing three sets of shiny robes into his arms.

“Go try those on,” he said, flicking his head in the direction of the curtained-off area in the corner of the shop - the same area that he pointed Harry towards a few minutes later, his own arms now full of slippery dress robes in various shades of grey.

“But - Draco -” he said, and the tailor tutted at him.

“I need to be done with you both by six, and I’ve only the one dressing room.” He nodded in the direction of the changing area. “Go on.”

“But--”

“Merlin me, you’d think you were schookids!” Peter explained. He raised his voice. “Mr. Malfoy, you don’t mind if Mr. Potter joins you back there, do you?”

For precious seconds, Draco didn’t reply, and Harry let himself hope that Draco would put a stop to this. But then he cleared his throat, and called out “That’s fine,” and was it Harry’s imagination or did his voice sound different than usual?

“See?” The tailor asked.

Harry made his way to the curtained off area with his heart in his throat. When he pushed away the fabric and stepped in, Draco was as far to the side as the space would allow, his back once again to Harry; Harry followed his lead, turning away from Draco as he yanked the first set of robes over his head. Years and years as a wizard, and he’d never gotten used to dress robes; regular robes were bad enough, with their tendency to get tangled in his legs when he sat or catch in doors behind him. Dress robes were even worse - he hated that they were tight across the chest, restricting his movements in a way that plain t-shirts and jumpers never did. He’d been hoping that Al and Scorpius’s Muggle-style reception would mean he could just wear a suit, but no such luck; they wanted everyone in robes for the ceremony.

The first robe he tried on was embroidered and horrendously scratchy - why, he wondered again, wasn’t he wearing a shirt right now - and the second was so satiny that Harry felt uncomfortable, like someone couldn’t even grab his arm because he would slip right out of their grasp. He was wrestling with his third option when the tailor’s voice reached his ears.

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, I’ve just got a message from my wife asking me to come home early. Leave your favorite robes hung on the door and I’ll get them in the morning. I’m closing up now, but you’ll still be able to Apparate out once you’re done.”

And with that, there was the soft click of the door sliding shut and the click of a key in the lock.

Harry gaped in the direction of the door, then at Draco, forgetting his mental rule of _do not look at Draco’s naked back_. “Did he just leave us in here alone?”

Draco let out a long sigh. “It would seem so.”

Harry looked over at Draco - who was currently shirtless and holding a new set of robes - and his nerves and desire fueled his next words.

“What the hell?”

There was a moment of quiet before Draco, to Harry’s surprise, burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Harry demanded as Draco tried to catch his breath, now leaning forward and clutching at his stomach, but that only set him off again.

“You just...you really don’t want to be in here with me,” Draco said finally, a breathy laugh interrupting his words. “It’s funny.”

Harry’s stomach twisted. Surely Draco knew that Harry _wanted_ , and that it was because of that want that he couldn’t...right?

“It’s not like that,” Harry began, but Draco cut him off.

“I know I crossed a line, with the kiss, but I can take a hint. I’m not going to try again, Harry.”

“You think I’ve been avoiding you because I was _uncomfortable_?”

Draco frowned. “Yes.” Harry shook his head, and Draco narrowed his eyes. “The first thing you said after we kissed was ‘we can’t.’ Was I supposed to get something else from that?”

Harry finally found his words. “We can’t because of Albus and Scorpius, is what I meant. Not because I don’t want to.”

Draco was just looking at him. “Are you telling me I could have had you for the past two years?” His hands were still, but his voice was quieter than usual, and gods, was he gorgeous.

Harry swallowed. “Had me?”

Draco raised his hand, running two fingers down the side of Harry’s face. “Been with you.”

“Oh.” Harry watched Draco’s face, grey eyes and soft wrinkles and the hint of five o’clock shadow coming in, so light as to be barely noticeable. “You want--?”

“Yes.” The word rushed out of Draco. He dropped the robes and stepped closer to Harry, cupping his face now with both hands. “Yes, I want. I want you. Have been wanting you.”

Harry shivered. “Oh.” Draco was now running a hand through his hair, and it felt _so good_ , but he couldn’t - there was a reason--

“But - the boys,” he managed to say, but Draco was already shaking his head.

“Can we just see?” He asked. “See if we’re compatible. We can deal with telling them, and when and how, later if it comes to that, but please...I just want to see you.”

Harry had no doubts of their compatibility, his blood already thrumming under his skin just from Draco’s hands on his skin, but he saw the loophole Draco was offering, and he took it. “Yes,” he said, “yes,” and then Draco was kissing him, and Harry was kissing him back. He let Draco lead the kiss, walking him back towards the wall of the shop and pressing him against it, his own hands coming up to clutch at Draco’s back, at miles and miles of cool, soft skin. They kissed against the wall for long minutes, until Harry was overheated and turned on and starting to get hard, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this - just kissed someone, occupying himself entirely with the movement of lips and tongues. By the end of their marriage, he and Ginny hadn’t had sex for years, and the few dates he’d had that went past a perfunctory goodnight kiss have been quite matter of fact, with more attention paid to positioning and preparation than getting carried away with foreplay.

But Draco…

Draco’s hands were sneaking under the back of Harry’s robes, as his own moved to Draco’s shoulders, and he remembered abruptly that the robes weren’t even his. He pushed Draco away, but rested their foreheads together to make it clear he was ending the kiss, not the encounter.

“Can I take you to bed?” he asked, enjoying the way Draco’s eyes darkened at his words.

“Yes, Harry,” Draco whispered. “Yes, you can.”

 

_at three o’clock in the afternoon,_

 

They stumbled through the Floo right after each other, and right away Draco had Harry up against the wall again, sucking at his jaw as he started on the buttons of Harry’s shirt. Harry buried his hands in Draco’s hair, which had thinned out slightly but still fell through his fingers like silk. By the time Draco had pushed Harry’s shirt off his shoulders and sucked what felt like two bruises on his jaw, Harry was fully hard and aching. When Draco asked him which way the bedroom was, he wasted no time in leading him there.

Upstairs, they undressed each other slowly. The only sounds in the room were their breathing and the rustling of fabric - the _snick_ of Harry’s zipper as Draco pulled it down, the muffled _thump_ of Draco’s jumper hitting the floor - everyday noises that Harry normally didn’t even notice, but which sent his pulse racing when it was Draco causing them. Draco’s eyes roamed over Harry’s skin as it was exposed, his eyes hungry and heated, and Harry forgot to feel self conscious about the softness of his stomach and the scars he’d picked up from years of being an Auror - instead, he drank in the sight of Draco’s body as it was revealed, somehow better than the few times he’d let himself imagine.

When he was naked, Draco sat on the edge of Harry’s bed and scooted up towards the pillows. The evening light slanting through the windows cast him in shadow, and Harry hurried to join him. He crawled onto the bed and let Draco pull him down so Harry was hovering over him, holding himself up on his elbows. They continued to kiss, deep, hungry kisses that Harry wanted to drown in, and it seemed only natural that they begin to move together, that Draco’s hand travel down between them and take both their pricks in hand, that he break their kiss for a moment to whisper a lubrication spell before pulling Harry’s head back down to his own. Harry didn’t know how long they went on, Draco stroking them until Harry was shuddering and coming, gasping out Draco’s name against his lips.

Draco dropped his hand, and Harry rolled off of him, reaching for Draco’s cock and smiling when he cursed quietly at the feeling. He propped himself on one arm, dedicating his attention to Draco’s neck and ear while he stroked his erection. Draco panted and arched into his touch, cursing softly and finally crying out Harry’s name as he came all over his hand.

Afterwards, Draco put on a pair of Harry’s pajama bottoms and joined him in the kitchen while Harry made them sandwiches. They returned to the bedroom to eat them, sitting against the headboard with their hands entwined and leaving the plates on the floor when they were done. They made out again before they went to sleep, deep and dirty with Draco half on top of Harry, then soft and slow as their exhaustion caught up with them.

“You don’t mind if I stay, right?” Draco asked, yawning hugely, and Harry couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Not at all.”

 

_in the garden of Malfoy Manor._

 

At first Harry thought that Draco was calling his name. He pressed his nose into Draco’s shoulder - Merlin, how did he still smell so amazing - and groaned. “It’s too early.”

“Wha-?” Draco was still half-asleep, which was what alerted Harry to the fact that he wasn’t the one who’d spoken.

“Harry,” the voice spoke again, and he finally recognized it as James’s, rolling over to see his son’s labrador Patronus watching him. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

The dog nodded once - a weird gesture to see on an animal - and proceeded with the message. “Dad, Maria’s been in labor since yesterday evening and we’ve just arrived at St. Mungo’s. Come by when you can. Mum’s on her way, but please let Albus and Lily know.”

Harry was already rolling out of bed as James’s Patronus dissipated, shoving his glasses on to his face and feeling around on the floor for his wand. He cast two Patronuses, sending the message off to his other two children, and noticed Draco had finally woken up as he began to hunt for his pants.

“Are you going to St. Mungo’s?” Draco’s voice was quiet in the dimly lit room.

“Yes.” Harry pulled on his sweater and then sat on the bed to tie his trainers. He glanced at the clock - six thirty in the morning. “I’m sorry. I wanted to cook you breakfast...”

“But you’re about to become a grandfather. I understand.” Draco smiled up at him, then hooked a finger into Harry’s collar and pulled him down for a kiss. It went on for a little longer than perhaps it should have, but eventually Harry pulled away.

“You can go back to sleep if you like, and help yourself to breakfast before you go.” He ran a hand through Draco’s hair - he had slight bedhead, which Harry never would have guessed but found delightful. “I imagine the next few days will be quite hectic, but can I take you out for dinner on Friday?”

“I’d like that,” Draco said, laying back onto the pillows. “Good morning, Harry.”

Harry smiled. “Good morning, Draco.”

The lobby of St. Mungo’s was about half full when he arrived, and he was quickly led upstairs to the Maternity ward. The rest of his family were there already - Ginny wearing an old Harpies jacket over her pajamas and sat on a small sofa, Scorpius next to her clutching a mug of coffee while Albus talked to a Healer down the hall. Harry joined them in the waiting area, slumping into a chair across from them, while Lily paced next to the table, looking far too awake for the still-dark sky.

“How’s Maria?” Harry asked the group at large.

It was Ginny who answered. “She’s alright. James is in there with her now.”

Harry nodded. “Did you call her parents?” Maria’s parents were Muggle, although her brother was also a wizard.

Ginny gave him an indulgent smile. “Yes, Harry. James called them before they left, and they’re taking a taxi over now.”

Scorpius held up James’s phone. “I’m in charge of getting them inside once they’re here.”

Harry smiled. “Good. That’s good. And Michael?”

Ginny laughed. “In the States on assignment, but he’ll be taking a Portkey as soon as the office opens in the morning - relax, Harry. We’ve got it covered.”

Harry was well aware that any one of his family members was more than capable of contacting all the necessary parties, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty that everyone else had arrived before him, especially when part of the reason for his delay had been waking up in bed with Draco. It didn’t help that the look Scorpius was giving him was downright suspicious - Harry was starting to feel uncomfortable under the intense gaze.

“Scorpius, what--?”

“Is that my father’s jumper?”

Immediately, Ginny and Lily’s attention was on him, and Harry’s face warmed as he looked down at his top. It was, in fact, Draco’s jumper - a thin, fine knit Harry never would have chosen. Not that he was going to admit it.

“No, this is-- this is mine.”

“Not your usual style, Harry,” Ginny said, as Harry smoothed down the front of the garment, trying to look more comfortable.

“I’m trying something new.”

“But are you _sure_ that’s not my dad’s jumper? Because I could have sworn I bought it for him for his birthday last year. It’s even monogrammed the same,” Scorpius said, now grinning widely, as Harry looked down and noticed for the first time the stylized M over his left pec. Dammit.

“Uh--”

He was saved from replying by Albus sitting down next to his fiancé and promptly bursting into laughter. “Holy fuck!” he crowed, earning a glare from the elderly couple at the other end of the waiting room. “Scorp, I told you the fitting would do it. And now you have to let me pick the cake flavor, hah!”

Scorpius’s grin had verged into the territory of shit-eating. “Albus, you’re mistaken. That is definitely Harry’s jumper and not the one I gifted to my father, which he was wearing when we had lunch with him yesterday.”

Harry’s face flamed. Lily was giggling now, but Ginny, bless her, was still making an effort to keep a straight face - not that it was working.

“I-- uh. This isn’t--what it looks like?” Harry cleared his throat and reminded himself that he’d defended himself to people much more intimidating than the grinning twenty-three year olds currently facing him. “It hasn’t-- it’s new. We were going to tell you…” he trailed off, as telling their children hadn’t actually been discussed yet. “We’re-- I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” he finished, looking down at his hands.

When no one said anything, he looked back up. Scorpius’s expression was tense, Albus’s just confused.

“This isn’t what it looks like?”

Albus spoke over Scorpius. “What do you mean, you’re sorry?”

“I just-- we didn’t mean to embarrass you. You’re getting married, and that’s the most important thing, and I don’t want anything that happens between Draco and I to...you know…” he stopped, hesitating, as Albus looked on the verge of laughter again. “Get in the way?”

“Merlin and Morgana, Dad!” Albus was full on laughing now. “We’ve been waiting for you and Draco to get together for ages!”

“What?” Harry asked, surprised to see Lily and Ginny nodding along.

“We really thought it was going to happen a few years ago, but you’ve been super weird recently and neither one of you would talk about it,” Scorpius explained. “We figured that if you had to work together on wedding stuff, you might actually talk things out.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Took you long enough, though,” Albus continued. “Scorpius really thought the catering date would do it, but my money was on the tailor shop.”

“Is that why he just left us there?”

“Did he? Hah! That’s perfect,” Albus said. “I knew Peter would come through. And now that I’ve won the bet, I get to choose the flavor of the cake!” He pressed a kiss to Scorpius’s cheek, which his fiancé pretended to wipe off in disgust.

“Ugh, and you’re probably going to choose something plebeian, like chocolate.”

“Yep!” Al said cheerfully.

“But Draco and I already went to the cake tasting,” Harry said. “You told us whatever we decided was fine?”

Albus rolled his eyes. “Those were set up meetings, Dad. Do you think we were actually going to let you pick out everything for our wedding when you were all distracted pining over each other?”

“ _Chocolate,_ ” Scorpius muttered under his breath.

“Um.” Harry was still a little speechless, reflecting on the past few months with new eyes.

“Honestly, dad,” Lily piped in. “It was kind of obvious.”

“You were in on this too?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Albus stole the last of my Skiving Snackbox to convince you he was sick for something, and I made him tell me everything. I do notice when things go missing, you know,” she said, the last part directed to her brother.

“Sorry, Lils. But it was for the greater good!” Albus pleaded. “You have to admit that this is hilarious.”

Harry turned to Ginny, hoping his steadfast co-parent would have something to say in his defense - a rebuke for their rogue children, perhaps - but her expression was a mirror of Albus’s, shining with amusement.

“Harry,” she asked, “is that a hickey on your neck?”

_Reception in London to follow._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to come say hi to me on tumblr (@violetclarity) or leave me a comment to let me know what you think!


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